In Commemoration
by Heuress
Summary: It's been 70 years since the Second World War officially ended in Europe, and Germany sets off a few days early in order to meet with his former adversary, Russia, to attend the former Soviet's ceremonial parade. Three-shot.


**A/N: Thank-you everyone for taking the time to click on this story! I plan to split this story into three chapters, and it will generally be a Germany/Russia centred story (although other characters will feature in this). Chapter one today, chapter two tomorrow, and chapter three after tomorrow. Originally, I'd wanted to write a really long one-shot, but as it is, I was quite pressed for time. Sorry if anyone seems a bit OOC. In any case, Happy 8th of May. It's hard to believe that 70 years ago Germany officially surrendered, "ending" the war (in Europe, at least)...**

* * *

 _ **Part One: The Arrival**_

 **29** **h** **of April, 1945**

Destruction.

There was only one word to adequately describe the sight that beheld him: destruction.

Everywhere he looked, no matter what sights he set his eyes upon, he would be faced with the same horrifying scene of his citizens, his _people_ , screaming in pure, unadulterated fear as the menace known as the Red Army marched upon them, butchering anything within sight, marking each kill with the all-too familiar sound of rapid gunfire, bringing about their reckoning in the form of _destruction_.

Terrified shrieks and blood-curdling screeches filled the skies as people rushed for cover, the buildings having long since been bombarded with bombshells, with men trying in vain to protect their families as they scattered for lost shelter, women futilely attempting to shield their children from harm only to have them ripped apart by Death's cold embrace, children bawling and quivering in fear as they were gunned down facilely, young _boys_ in bloodied uniforms struggling to perform their duties as soldiers as those too slow to react were massacred in an instant, young girls taken far, far away from their families and brutishly violated in the streets, their screams clearly audible to everyone in the vicinity as many were robbed of their maidenhood, everywhere he looked, everywhere he could see, there was nothing but pain, and horror, and anger, and _fear,_ so, so much _fear_ -

A flash of scarlet.

His eyes widened.

In the midst of the chaos stood a figure, freakishly tall and impeding, his head of taupe towering over everyone else's like a sparkling beacon of doom, his frightening penumbra cast upon the ground and his hair in complete disarray, his eyes enlarged with a sense of unrestrained delirium, glinting madly as he fired a round of bullets into several people at once, long rivulets of blood gushing out upon impact to slap his insanity-ridden face, his visage split into a maddening grin, the characteristic scarf wound tightly around his neck painted a deep burgundy, soaked with the blood of innocents...

The blond nation felt his heart plummet to the depths of his stomach, an eerie queasiness rising within him as he watched silently, his face a ghostly pale, as the hulking nation continued with his killing spree, appearing to take joy in the lives he claimed, his mauve-coloured eyes gleaming with a certain revengeful fury-

Oh.

 _Oh._

That was it, wasn't it?

Revenge.

That was what the Soviet sought, and that was what he'd get.

 _Revenge._

The Nazi nation felt sick.

Inexplicably, disgustingly sick.

His previous, internally frantic and illogical queries about why this was happening had all been answered in a horrifyingly cruel, barbaric way.

For had it not been him who had slaughtered the Soviet Union's people, his children, all for the sake of a glorified conquest? Had it not been he, Germany, who had so callously ordered the deaths of, not only Russia's men, women and children, but also those of his sisters, and the entire Soviet bloc, combined with a myriad of other countries, so many, _too_ many-

Germany swallowed audibly, his eyes widening a fraction.

This was all his fault.

This massacre, this horrifying event that would long be overshadowed by the horrors of the Second World War, an event which would go down in history as a mere detail of said war, something wholly and completely justifiable for this was _all Germany's fault_ , was simply that: all Germany's fault.

Oh, Germany had well been aware of the terror he'd inflicted upon the entirety of Europe; he was no fool and had even, dare he admit, enjoyed it at some point.

But now he saw... now he truly saw...

Germany stared blankly straight ahead, his eyes unseeing as they reflected back the pure macabre of the scene that never ceased to unfurl before him, his hands rigidly limp at his sides, trembling ever-so-slightly as they clutched a black pistol, his stark-white face speckled with specks of blood, as he watched his comrades, his people, his children, executed by the shot of leaded bullets.

Russia was nowhere in sight, probably having moved on, but Germany thought he may have caught sight of an inexplicably infuriated Ukraine participating in the bloodshed, her equally enraged sister fighting alongside her...

He paid them no heed.

It would be his undoing.

A captivating stream of blood spurted before him as one of his men was shot thrice in the thorax, his body blasted back as all equilibrium eluded his corpse, sanguine fluid flying high into the air before splattering back down upon the cobblestone-covered ground, painting the streets an invigorating scarlet.

The blond nation could do nothing but watch through horrified eyes as the man's corpse crumpled to the ground, his body smacking vociferously against it and his azure-coloured eyes rolling back, enlarged in pure macabre, frozen in a single moment of death.

A bile-like substance arose within Germany's larynx, blocking his windpipe in a constricting manner, as he stared, utterly transfixed, at the deceased soldier, too pathetically weak to divert his gaze.

The audible sound of footfalls drawing near at an alarming pace did nothing to snap him out of his reverie, and the once pride and mighty nation kept his eyes downcast as a round of bullets ripped through him effortlessly, tearing off bits of flesh and grazing his skin in ways that would surely leave scars, his body blasted back by the force of the bullets, the sight of crimson briefly obscuring his vision before he keeled over, succumbing to his wounds.

Germany slowly raised his icy eyes, now filled with a terrifying emptiness, to look on as the soldiers abandoned him, believing him to be dead as they themselves went off in search for more victims, barking out in a language he did not understand. He could feel himself growing ever so dizzy, fluctuating between consciousness and unconsciousness, struggling to retain a grip on reality as his memory grew hazy, the constant screams echoing inside his mind in a dull manner, barely coherent as his blood leaked out from every open pore of his body, filling the streets with even more of the horrifying substance, the stench of iron filling his nose as he blinked, closing his eyelids over unseeing eyes, his mind rapidly spiralling down into a lethargic sopor...

 **7th of May, 2015.**

Germany's eyes peeled back to reveal orbs of bright azure, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he groggily adjusted to his surroundings. As soon as the slight blur impairing his vision had dissipated, he stared up at the ceiling, mulling over the nightmare he'd just had. A memory, if he recalled correctly.

The blond nation shifted slightly, pulling his upper body up as he lifted a curled fist to rub at his right eye. He hadn't had that particular nightmare in a while now; most of the nightmares he had consisted of the horrors he'd inflicted upon others, not the other way around. They were quite frequent this time of year, as the anniversary of the war's end drew closer...

He could only imagine how the others were feeling.

Even now, seventy years on since World War II's European closure, with international relations better than ever and at an all-time high for Germany, many had not forgiven him for the atrocities committed by his band of Nazis.

 _Quite right, too,_ Germany couldn't help but think. It was undeniable that times had changed, and as much as Germany longed for the end to the prejudice against him and his people, he knew deep down that he would not have forgiven himself either had he been one of his victims.

In fact, he still hadn't completely forgiven himself.

The alerting sound of his phone ringing caught him off-guard, snapping him out of his daze, and he outstretched a muscular arm to grab at the corded phone by his bedside, plucking it off its cradle and answering it with the simple greeting of, "Ludwig Beilschmidt's residence, how may I help?"

Germany still couldn't get over how unusually odd the name tasted on his tongue, how strange the syllables felt as they rolled off said muscle, as if even after countless years since the adoption of the fake identity, he still hadn't gotten used to it.

He doubted he ever would.

" _Deutschland._ "

Germany sat up a little straighter upon hearing Chancellor Angela Merkel's petition, few traces of fatigue lingering upon his visage as he adorned a serious expression, as if the Chancellor in question was inside the very room, and not communicating him via telephone.

It must be important for the Chancellor herself to make a house call. And on his personal line, no less.

Germany listened patiently to every word the Chancellor had to say; in short, the call was brief and quick, and she informed him to get himself to the Berlin Tegel Airport within the hour. Germany needed no explanation; he knew that, even though Chancellor Merkel had opted not to attend the 70th Anniversary of the end of the Second World War in Europe on the 9th of May in Moscow, she had decided to go the following day, after the festivities. Germany knew well enough that she had asked him to go three days in advance for the sole purpose of making sure that Russia didn't go... well, overboard.

Goodness knows the largest nation in the world had a reputable tendency for doing so.

And who better qualified to babysit than Germany himself?

The Germanic nation could barely suppress a snort.

He supposed it was his penance, after all.

...Then again, Germany _did_ have a lot of experience babysitting, his brother being a fitting example of his work...

...or, perhaps, not so fitting, now that he truly thought about it.

Once Chancellor Merkel had finished with her custom-made to-do list for Germany/tirade, the nation in question bade her a formal good day and hung up, delicately placing the phone back down its cradle. Parting his lips to release an exasperated sigh, Germany ran a weary hand over his face, kneading his palm into his skin as he did so.

Why hadn't he awoken earlier?

 _Gott._

Getting to the airport within the hour... well, no doubt it would be problematic. Granted, it was only a quarter of an hour away from where he lived, but even so...

Sighing, Germany hauled himself out of bed, making tracks for his wardrobe before changing his unconventional attire, which currently consisted of a pair of white boxers. He slipped himself into a fine-cut suit, donning his usual tailored tux and pinstriped trousers, before worming himself into sleek, black shoes.

The platinum blond-haired nation set off in the direction of the staircase, exiting his room, carefully shutting the door behind him, his fingers lingering on the doorknob lightly before slipping off.

He was about to head downstairs when the sound of a muffled thump reached his ears.

Releasing a huff of air, Germany backtracked, marching towards his brother's 'new room' (he'd temporarily moved out of the basement- something about some spiders in there that needed a taste of Germany's eradication methods). Once he reached the door to the guest room, he nudged it slightly open (for it had been slightly ajar), and stepped inside the room enshrouded in darkness. And yet, even through the obscurity of the scene, Germany could faintly make out the outline of Prussia's body, his back turned to face Germany and his unruly silver hair in a complete state of disarray.

" _Preußen?_ "

No response; Germany sighed.

He'd been with the ex-nation long enough to know that Prussia was only feigning sleep. The war's end, although a source of inexplicable joy for many, remained a touchy subject for Prussia, as his defeat was marked by his ultimate imprisonment under a vengeful Soviet Union...

And needless to say, those were not happy memories.

"I just wanted to inform you zat I'm going to ze airport, now."

Prussia shuffled a little, as if silently objecting to his brother's departure, almost as if he were afraid of being left alone, however he made no effort to dissuade him from going.

Of course, Germany could just be over-analysing the situation. Prussia wasn't all that easy of a nation to read.

"Make sure you don't ztay in bed for ze whole day, _ja_?"

Prussia remained mute, and Germany took that as his cue to leave. Backing out of the guest room, Germany shut the door and strode down the stairs, taking two at a time. He went into the kitchen to retrieve his briefcase, pilfering it from a high-up ledge, before heading out of his house. He brought no suitcase; he had no need of one, and quite frankly, had no time to spare, being quite pressed enough as it is.

As soon as he was out the door, he made a beeline for the garage, which, for some reason, had been left open for the night.

Germany's eyebrows creased into a frown. Prussia must have forgotten to close it once he'd gotten back from getting hammered at the club last night.

Germany couldn't stop the sigh that forced its way passed his lips. Giving his head a light shake, he rapidly procured his car keys, unlocking the doors before clambering into the vehicle, slamming the door shut as soon as he was securely inside. He buckled up and started the car, its engine roaring to life as he drove out of the driveway...

O.o.O.o.O

"Mr. Germany, how nice it is to be seeing you again!"

Germany glanced up at the sight of the hulking nation, his host, who was appropriately dressed in accordance to the weather, in spite of his symbolic scarf. He fought the exhaustion from making itself apparent, straightening up and staring Russia in the eye, eyes of icy blue meeting those of a deep, entrancing purple.

Germany forced a tight-lipped smile, his face twisting into a horrifying grimace as he greeted the ex-Soviet, "It iz certainly good to see you again, Russia. How are things faring?"

Russia smiled, "Very good. I have been awaiting your arrival with much anticipation. Come, I will take your things to the car."

Before Germany could protest, Russia snatched the briefcase from Germany's hands, scooping it up and eyeing it in flabbergast, "...Where is all your stuff?"

Germany responded phlegmatically, "That is all my ztuff."

A brief flicker of disbelief flashed through the giant's cherub-like face, "This is all you bring?"

"Yes..."  
Russia diverted his gaze from the briefcase to Germany, blinking down at him, "Why?"

Germany cleared his throat, "I did not zee it wise to bring a suitcase. I only brought what was necessary. After all, I am only ztaying for zree days. I would not want to bring too much."

Russia merely stared at him a moment, before his characteristic, benign little smile once more graced his face, "Well, not matter. I am certain to be having something that fits you."

Germany's eyes narrowed slightly, "You are too kind, Russia."

Russia simply smiled, before gesturing for Germany to follow, "Come, let us go. I expect you are tired from your flight?"

Germany brushed off Russia's comment, insisting, "It was fine. Chancellor Merkel was very persistent in my coming here."

Russia beamed, "Ah, Merkel! How is the old broa-" Germany shot a warning glance his way, a clear caveat to watch himself, and Russia hastily rectified, "Ahem, that is to be saying, how is she doing?"

Germany's ears prickled slightly upon hearing the thinly-veiled contempt in his voice, but he paid it no heed, instead answering in a clipped tone, "Chancellor Merkel is doing well. She iz, of course, concerned for Ukraine, as are we all..."

Russia chuckled, although Germany could clearly detect the acrimony and resentment in his little chuffs, "Oh, I am sure that Ukraine will overcome her little problem. She did always like to dramatise things..."

Germany, in spite of himself, wisely held his tongue. It was not his place to get meddled within Ukraine's, and indeed, Russia's affairs, lest things inadvertently augment in terms of violence. He had clearly stated his more-or-less neutral stance on the matter, albeit urging Russia to do more to cease the hostilities and bloodshed.

Russia, as usual, remained blissfully aloof (or seemingly, at least; he was no fool), unwilling to listen to anyone. His other European compatriots were pushing to hold another conference concerning the Ukrainian crisis, France in particularly, however this was not why Germany was here.

Germany was here on observation duties. Nothing more.

The two nations stopped short in front of a gigantic, sleek black limousine, Germany's eyes widening slightly at the sight of the two military bodyguards Russia had been entrusted with.

As if he needed them.

"Zis... is your car?" Germany uttered absent-mindedly, his eyes locked on the guards/soldiers awaiting Russia's orders.

Russia nodded, "She is beautiful, no?"

No different than the other thousands of cars he'd bared witness to before.

But Germany, for all his social ineptitude, knew well enough that this was was not the moment for such sardonicism...

"Very..."

The duo climbed inside the vehicle, before Russia simpered- actually _simpered_ \- a light command to the chauffeur, who acquiesced without comment, revving up the car and driving out of the parking lot.

Germany and Russia sat side by side in the back seats, Russia's eyes drooping peacefully as Germany fought to keep his own wide open, insouciantly relaxing against the puffy leather seat.

Neither were all that good at engaging in small talk; Germany due to his general 'uptight' and 'solitary' attitude, whereas Russia's social awkwardness lay with his own recent isolation, his international relations further impaired by this whole Ukrainian business.

And so they remained silent, only exchanging a word or two for the entirety of the car ride, with Germany eventually succumbing to his fatigue, his head lowering to graze the window as he dozed off, with Russia eyeing him in unconcealed amusement.

By the time Germany woke up, the sun was setting and they had arrived at Russia's countryside estate.

A gargantuan building radiating of pure magnificence, it was a truly majestic sight to behold, with large pillars and columns rich in colour and splendor sporting onion domes at the entrance, proudly flaunted in a regal manner, with exalted rotundas of all shapes and sizes serving as pedestals for larger cupolas.

Germany soaked in the sight before him with watchful eyes as the car rolled to a stop. The blond nation blinked a little, lifting a pallid hand to touch his right temple as he readjusted himself, sitting up straight and turning his head to the side to see Russia, who wore a placated smile upon his childlike face.

"I apologise, Russia."

Russia blinked in confusion, swivelling around to face Germany as if suddenly noticing that he was awake, "Apologise? Whatever for?"

Germany sighed, running long fingers through his slick locks of hair, "I did not mean to fall azleep in your car, ezpecially after all ze trouble you've gone through to perzonally meet wiz me at ze airport."

Russia stared at him in incredulity, his eyes wide and disbelieving, "You are apologising for falling asleep?"

Germany's icy blue eyes flickered up to meet Russia's gaze, "It izn't very professional, I am aware..."

Russia stared at him a while longer, before releasing a hearty guffaw, "Ah, Germany! Falling asleep! No need to apologise for someting like that! How silly- oh, how you make me laff!"

Germany bristled slightly, his immense disapprobation of being made a mockery of apparent.

"Ah~ you are too funny! Come, I will show you the inside of my house."

The two nations vacated the vehicle, with Germany grabbing at his briefcase, Russia's soldiers/bodyguards saluting them as they made their way to the glitzy manor.

Once inside, Germany, despite having visited Russia's _homely_ abode many a time, couldn't help but marvel as his eyes traipsed over the foyer, taking close detail to every little object loitering about. His eyes wandered to beyond the foyer, down a large corridor where ancient vases continuously paved the winding path.

"Oh! I almost forget!"

Germany was so mesmerised by the sight that he didn't feel Russia's large hand on his shoulder, which jerked slightly upon contact.

"I will get someone to bring your stuff in, _da_?"

Germany gave the smallest of inclinations, just visible enough so that Russia could catch it.

"And you are still remembering where to find your room?"

" _Ja_. I'll be able to find it."

"Okay. I will join you later, have some good drinks for you."

Germany tore his eyes away from the foyer to glance at Russia, giving him a small smile which only served to contort his face into a grotesque grimace.

But Russia was already half-way out of the door, retreating from the foyer and stepping back outside, his previously mellifluous voice morphing into a bark as he ordered his employees to do something or other.

Heaving a sigh, Germany began the long climb up the stairs, outstretching his free hand to grip at the bannister. It was only when he'd reached the top of the staircase that he realised that he already had his briefcase.

Germany closed his eyelids over weary eyes, exhaling a puff of air from his nose. If he didn't have any luggage, where had Russia gotten off to? Better yet, what was he up to...?

Giving his head of platinum a light shake, Germany continued on, eventually stumbling into the right room, indelicately throwing his briefcase upon the bed once he was inside.

True to his word, Russia returned but a few minutes later, bearing two, intricately designed glasses and a bottle of vodka in between, suggesting that they head to the pantry and have a drink.

And so they did just that, reclining against their selective armchairs, Germany politely accepting a glass of vodka.

"Not too much." he cautioned when Russia seemed incapable of stopping, over-pouring the alcoholic beverage into Germany's cup.

"Oh, I apologise." Russia blinked down at the slight spill he'd caused.

"No matter." Germany waved it off a little tentatively, dabbing at the stain with one of the cloths that had been offered to him.

"So, Germany," Russia started, bringing his own glass of vodka to his lips, "I hear you are a good drinker."

Germany tensed slightly, "Iz that so?"

" _Da._ " Russia smiled, "It is true that you drank eleven pints of beer in under five minutes?"

Germany dipped his nose into his glass, tipping said glass upwards slightly to allow he vodka to trickle down his throat, answering with a simple, "It iz."

Russia's smile widened, "Wondervul! I would be impressed, but beer is weak alcohol, and it is too lacking in fire."

Germany's eyebrows furrowed together, "It iz not as weak as one might think..."

"Hee hee, yes it is! It is very weak drink, my cat does agree, he did not knock out after drinking it."

Germany merely eyed Russia in unamusement, his left eyebrow twitching slightly.

Russia stared back, smiling as he imbibed his portion of vodka, his uniquely-coloured eyes fixed on Germany's own glass.

"Would you want more?"

Germany shook his head, "No thank-you, it'z fine."

An awkward silence rapidly eased its way in and hung itself over the two nations, stretching far and wide to reach every corner of the room. Both countries glanced down at their drinks, with Russia refilling another glass for himself.

Germany kept his eyes downcast, "So zese celebrations..."

"Yes, they are to be very good."

"... are they just a show of military power?" finished Germany, his eyes flickering up to meet Russia's.

Russia's smile faltered ever-so-slightly, before widening once more, "Is not a show of power. It is commemoration for the end of the Second World War; to celebrate my victory."

Germany diverted his gaze, prompting Russia to enlarge his smile.

"Would you like more vodka, Germany?" Russia offered, although something in his tone hinted at offence.

Germany seemed to mull over it for a second, before giving a sharp nod, "Yes, why not..."

Russia leaned over to refill Germany's glass.

As Russia poured him some vodka, Germany couldn't refrain from asking, "So ze situation with Ukraine-"

"Let us not speak of such things right now," Russia interjected, placing the bottle of vodka back on the coffee table, "This whole weekend is cause for celebration. We should not dwell on bad things at this time."

Germany hesitated, before nodding slightly, "Yes... of course. You are correct."

Russia flashed him a smile, and the rest of the evening was spent downing their thoughts with vodka, making small talk every once in a while. They spent their time conversing about international affairs, guests who had accepted Russia's invitation (Germany had been quite surprised- he hadn't expected that the Northern nation would have such a turnout at his parade, in light of recent events), all the ceremonies raging across Europe, noting that most countries celebrated it on the 8th of May, and not the 9th.

Before they knew it, the evening was gone, with night as its replacement, and Russia had come to a startling realisation.

"Oh my!" exclaimed he, his eyes fixed on the clock.

Germany followed his gaze, "What iz it?"

"I have been such a bad host!" Russia gasped, setting his glass of vodka down upon the table, "I haven't offered any dinner!"

Germany levelled Russia with what he hoped was a look of placation, "Do not worry yourself, Russia. I did eat on ze plane..."

"Are you hungry now? I could get my cooks to make you something-"

Germany held up a hand, cutting Russia off before he could begin his tirade, "Zher is no need for that. I think I shall retire to my room, if that is alright with you."

Russia appeared baffled for an instant, before smiling, "Of course it is. You must be tired after your journey. I do apologise if I have kept you up for too long."

"Not at all."  
"Very well, then," Russia got to his feet, and Germany mimicked his action, "I bid you goodnight, Mr. Germany."

"Same to you."

Russia gestured for Germany to head out first, and Germany did so almost phlegmatically. He didn't stop walking until he reached his room, and he was accompanied by Russia throughout the journey, which made things all the more awkward. It didn't take long for Russia to divert path, and Germany was finally granted the solace he had sought for.

He slipped inside his room, finding a change of clothes on his bed, neatly folded in a little pile, a little note stuck atop. A frown creasing his eyebrows, Germany stepped closer and snatched the yellow post-it note, scanning the text through scrupulous eyes:

 _Germany,_

 _As promised, here are your clothes. You'll notice that some enticing pyjamas are included- with, of course, something special for the parade. I trust you'll find it to your liking._

 _Regards,_

 _Russia oJo_

Germany blinked once, then twice, trying to process what he'd just read. Finally, it slowly seemed to sink in, and Germany's eyes trailed from the note to the stack of clothes. He blinked his eyes a third time, heaving a rattling sigh. He delicately placed the note back in its place, lifting the pile of clothes from the bottom and carrying them all the way to the dresser, beginning to rearrange them, placing them within the safe confines of the oaken drawers.

He halted in his movements upon catching sight of the aforementioned pyjamas, his eyes widening slightly, taking in the vivid blend of azure and magenta, subconsciously shaking his head in incredulity. It looked absolutely ridiculous, and not enticing in the least.

Still... it was a rather chilly day, and in spite of being of Northern blood, Russia had not yet installed an adequate heating system, as his was far below sub par.

And so Germany shed his clothes and donned the vibrant pyjamas, thanking _Gott_ that no one was around to witness this embarrassing display.

Once he'd finished changing, he flicked off the switch to the room's primary source of light, enshrouding said room in darkness. His eyes, blinded though they undoubtedly were, sought any source of light to guide him to his bed. Germany stumbled forwards slightly, shuffling towards his seemingly amorphous bed, his fingers brushing lightly against the soft covers. Smiling slightly, Germany climbed onto the bed and slipped under the puffy duvet, pulling it up to his chin, his icy eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He inhaled deeply, closing eyelids over clear, blue eyes.

He only hoped that he wouldn't have the same recurring nightmare again...

 **TBC...**


End file.
